Some poems present themselves as cliffs that need to be climbed. Others are so defensive that when you approach their enclosure you half expect to be met by a snarling dog at the gate. Still others want to smother you with their sticky charms.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.

Certainly the modern poets I cherish most are disturbing spirits; they do not come to coo.

When they shall paint our sockets gray And light us like a stinking fuse, Remember that we once could say, Yesterday we had a world to lose.

The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking it is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark and not to turn

We have all been expelled from the Garden, but the ones who suffer most in exile are those who are still permitted to dream of perfection.

An old poet ought never to be caught with his technique showing.